


Sailor Senshi Stiles

by meerminne



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Sailor Moon, Emotionally Constipated Derek, High School, M/M, Sailor Stiles, Vernon Boyd and Erica Reyes Came Back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 06:19:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2057094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meerminne/pseuds/meerminne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Stiles is Sailor Moon and doesn't have time for this shit, and Derek just wants to know where Stiles goes at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Luna

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so this happened. It's not as crack-y as it seems like it would be. I entirely blame Sailor Moon Crystal and caffeine for this. More chapters will be posted soon hopefully!

Stiles is fucking _done_ with supernatural bullshit, okay? Especially supernatural bullshit involving revenge driven, homicidal witches with a penchant for using fire ball spells. Seriously. He had no idea that was a thing outside of Avatar.

  
He knows he says he’s done, he’s out, at least twice a week for months now but that doesn’t mean he isn’t completely serious this time.

  
As he drives away from the scorched earth and bloodbath that had been their newest battleground, he lets himself steep in his repressed anger, fingers curling tightly on the steering wheel. No one ever checks that he’s alright aside from a cursory glance to make sure he hasn’t actually died after he’s been thrown into a tree. Like tonight. No one rushed over to him after the witch had finally crumpled to the ground, throat slashed. Allison had caught Scott’s face in her hands and like a Disney princess shed a single tear before kissing him. Stiles had to untangle himself from the branches and bramble of the tree, mangling his already flayed skin further. Derek stalked off without as much as a word. There was an inordinate amount of the witchs blood dripping down from his mouth.

  
He patched himself up haphazardly with the first aid kit he kept under the front seat. The latch on the white plastic had brown dried blood on it from the last time he’d needed it. There are bloodstains on the seats of the Jeep – the car his mother and father drove, looking at him in the backseat from the rearview mirror, took him on camping trips, the car that one of his and his fathers’ last physical links to her. Suddenly the nauseated panic hits him. It usually starts right after a fight and he has to crawl to the Jeep to drive far enough away from the wolves before he has a panic attack.

  
Pulling over he starts going through the techniques he knows by rote. His chest aches, his body is sore and he’s overwhelmingly empty inside. Every time he taps into his spark – his magic, what feels like his soul – he’s sure he has used the last of it and that there are no reserves. It takes a few days before he can laugh easily and smile again. Battles and fights have been happening more frequently lately and he can’t honestly the last time he and Scott laughed about something without desperation lacing their voices.

  
He finally feels like he isn’t going to pass out and lifts his head up from the steering wheel. There are two amber eyes staring at him from his windshield out of the darkness and fuck no he is not dealing with this shit. He grabs the pistol loaded with wolfsbane bullets he keeps in his glove box and opens the door angrily.

  
“You’re going to go away or I’m going to shoot you,” he says as he steps out and levels the gun at the eyes. They blink. Stiles eyes adjust to the dark forest and -

  
It’s a cat. A small, black cat with a half crescent yellow band on its forehead and a yellow collar with a bow around its neck.

  
“I’m talking to a cat. Great,” he mumbles to himself as he lowers the gun. It’s still sitting on the hood of the Jeep and it doesn’t run away when he starts moving toward it. “Go, get going! I’m a crazy man with a gun and there are scarier things in these woods than me! You’re too cute to die.”

  
“I should hope so, this bow is quite fetching.”

  
The cat is talking.

  
Maybe he lost more blood to that tree than he initially thought.

  
“Fucking great,” he mumbles and brushes his hands over his sides and back where most of the damage is. The fabric of his shirt is torn and wet but not soaked.

  
“Language, please!” the cat says. Talks. Again. It’s brow – do cats even have eyebrows? - is furrowed in annoyance. Because the cat is _annoyed_. And _can talk._

  
“Look, cat. I just need to know if you’re some kind of evil werecat or something. I don’t want to shoot you or report you to the local wolf pack, but I will if I have to,” he says reasonably while waving his arms around. Still with the gun in his hand, his dad would be so pissed. The cat actually tilts its tiny adorable head at him and just stares which is… well, it’s a familiar enough response he’s encountered that it’s venturing into uncanny valley to see it on a cat. Also the cat isn’t clawing out his innards so he’s fairly certain it isn’t hellbent on revenge or whatever.

  
“I’ve been looking for you, Stiles. Though I do wish I’d been able to come earlier and help with that witch, I am sorry you were injured,” the cat says as it walks toward him. “I am Luna.”

  
Stiles gawks at the cat for a bit before Luna coughs politely. “Oh, uh. What?”

  
“I’ve been searching for you, we must begin quickly on your training!”

  
Again Stiles echoes his earlier, “What?”

  
“We must begin at once, you have so much to learn and I haven’t found any of the others – “

  
“Why were you looking for me?” He eyes the cat suspiciously. It looks harmless enough, small. He’s seen enough to be leery of anything that cute. “I think this is one for Deaton to deal with. Will you ride in the car? It’s a bit of a ways to walk.”

  
“Of course! Show me to your emissary – we have much to discuss, all of us!” Luna jumps off of the windshield to the ground, and gracefully climbs into the seat of his Jeep before arranging herself on the passengers seat. “Oh, and you can put the gun away. I can keep us safe from here.”


	2. Training Montage!

Dr. Deaton is still at the clinic mixing something black and burping that smells suspiciously like peppermint in an honest to god cauldron. Stiles asks for permission before he picks Luna up and carries her into the clinic, unsure what stepping directly onto the mountain ash barrier might do to her paws.

Luna immediately climbs out of his arms onto the work table and starts talking to Deaton – he nods along with whatever she says. Which is actually a lot and Stiles can’t quite keep up though he hears _soldier_ , _moon_ , and _power_ several times. He thinks he almost has a handle on what happened right up until Luna got in the car when his processing is interrupted by a soft paw on his chest. He looks down to see Luna looking balefully at him, eyes large and serious.

“This is a gift, a beautiful inheritance from our Queen – you have the power of Queen Serenity and all of the Sailor Scouts – “

“Okay, hold up. The last time I heard the ‘ _It’s a beautiful gift’_ speech things turned out terribly. Please tell me I’m not a werewolf or an abominable snowman or something. Please.” Stiles is leaning heavily against the stainless steel table and can feel the cold metal press into his side.

Luna just fucking smiles with her weird little cat mouth. Not reassuring.

“Stiles, no. You are a Sailor Scout – you have the power of the moon and the planets inside of you. You were born to lead the other Scouts in battle against forces of great evil.” Deaton is nodding along to everything the cat is saying with a thoughtful expression on his face. “We need to find the others quickly, there isn’t much time.”

“Are you sure I don’t need to go to the hospital?” Stiles whines at Deaton. Nothing seemed to shock the man, so he’s sure that if he walked in with a perfectly normal cat and said it was talking Deaton would just go along with it. But Deaton had spoken to Luna at length before Stiles tuned back in, and – oh, crap. “What time is it?”

3:04AM and, “What the fuck are you making in that cauldron at this time of night?” Honestly, Deaton wasn’t fooling anyone with his nice guy routine. Stiles knew that there was something deeper – not necessarily darker – inside of him, he could feel his own spark reaching out to probe around Deatons aura and get gently rebuffed every time it got too close.

“Language, Stiles!” Luna chides with a soft swat of a paw and seriously, what is his life.

 

~*~

 

He barely wakes up in time to get to school, going 15 over the entire way with eyes peeled for any rogue deputies out and about. Luna had started up again about _duty_ and _responsibility_ and Stiles still honestly can’t believe he didn’t end up at the hospital last night after being gored by a tree branch so he hushes her gently and bops her on the nose for good measure. She’d looked offended when he asked if she needed like, a water bowl or something, so he leaves her to her own devices (which mainly seemed to include rifling through the clothes on his floor to find the best shirt to leave cat hair on).

His first thought – his first real thought of the morning, honestly, is that he can’t tell Scott about this. He wouldn’t understand and Stiles doesn’t really know how to explain to anyone what Luna had told him last night. Deaton had helped clear up some details about how Stiles fits into this good vs. evil business but it was still a bit ridiculous to comprehend that he was some sort of magical soldier sent from the goddamned _moon_ to protect earth. Really, though. Apparently he would eventually get a magical boomerang _tiara_. Great.

He can’t tell anyone about this. “Shit,” he says and blushes when the cute girl from his Trig class turns around to raise an eyebrow at him. Slouching, he sneaks his phone out from his pocket. 17 texts, 4 missed phone calls.

**dude where r u**

**r u ok**

**r u ok??????**

**Stiles????**

With one hand he absently takes notes while texting Scott back.

_dude I’m ok but not cool leavn me think I rly need to go to er asap_

**Y RU HERE GO**

_cnt miss class dadface >:( meface :’(_

**wat**

~*~

 

Melissa asked Stiles once why he didn’t want to take the bite as she was cleaning up a particularly nasty gash on the outside of his thigh. She really should have tried harder to get him to the hospital but he resolutely shook his head and bit down on a strip of his ripped tee-shirt to stifle screams as she stitched the wound up as well as she could. The slapdash suture kit she had put together sat open on her kitchen table, the remnants of her frozen TV dinner pushed aside.

He never answered, but she never asked again.

This time, she gently pries tree bark out of his skin and thinks about who is protecting Stiles when he's protecting her son and the pack.

 

~*~

 

It’s been a week of training with Luna and Stiles is exhausted He’d almost rather go back to messing around with Wendigos. He’s pissed at himself and at her and at the fucking ridiculous costume that his clothes magically rearrange to form when he transforms.

He won’t stop though.

The first time he transforms – “Seriously? I have to say ‘Moon Prism Power?’” – he is struck dumb by powerful he feels. He feels at home in his skin for the first time in his life, at least since he was five, and he feels normal. Like this is normal, standing in the middle of a field while Luna and Deaton throw spells and rocks and whatever else they can at him, expecting him to block it with the magical powers he apparently has. The ADD fades into the background, a gentle whirring hum, and he can just focus on how to move to dodge flying debris and cast defensive spells around himself. He can just breathe.

It’s amazing and it makes lying to Scott and the pack worth it, to feel at home in his skin. Deaton had almost-promised to not tell Derek or the others, and Stiles almost-trusted him.

How was he supposed to tell the alpha of a pack of werewolves that oh hey, he was actually way stronger than him and please don’t take it as a threat. Stiles could actually _kill people with his mind_ , and there were more like him out there _._ The thrum of magic that’s always pressed up against his breastbone is let loose and runs along his fingertips, to the edge of the stupid fucking gloves he wears, along the sides of his neck and all through his veins. It fills his lungs and he is on the edge of a panic attack before the magic, the spark, calms him and it almost feels like his mothers’ cool hand brushing the hair away from his face when he can breathe again.

He can’t stop, and continues to lie to Scott and his father about his training sessions. It’s harder with Scott and it hurts when he realizes he is used to lying to his dad, the lies piling up between them it’s sometimes hard to see through.

He could do without the stupid tiara though.


End file.
